


somewhere in between (we are grey)

by meliorismel



Category: SHINee
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Band Fic, Canon Compliant, Insomnia, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Content, Smoking, of course jonghyun gets everything he wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliorismel/pseuds/meliorismel
Summary: Adoring Jonghyun comes easy as walking. It takes a tragedy to undo, and even then, Kibum would always be left with the knowledge of exactly what to do.orKibum helps Jonghyun fall asleep
Relationships: Kim Jonghyun/Kim Kibum | Key
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	somewhere in between (we are grey)

**Author's Note:**

> imagine this happening sometime after mid-aug 2017 and Jonghyun never left BN radio.
> 
> inspired by [ this post](https://www.instagram.com/p/BeS5UezjEJO/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)

Just as I spoke his name,

I hope that someone will speak my name,

one right for my color and perfume.

_\- Kim Chun Su_

* * *

They've been in this room for hours. Jonghyun a lot longer than Kibum yet, still, he asks to hear it one more time, asks for Kibum to go higher, dig deeper, do better.

Kibum does, if only because he's a professional, no stranger to repeating the same three words over and over with a variance so slight as to be missed by anyone without a trained ear. Jonghyun, as forgiving as he may be outside the studio, has little tolerance for rookie mistakes. He has his expectations, most of them adopted from the producers and vocal coaches from their early days – listen to the demo, know the timing, warm-ups happen _before_ stepping to the mic, no yawning – but there are others Jonghyun picked up along the way, born from his own personal vexations.

Kibum knows that if he’s even just one minute late, he’d better be able to blame it on the manager, traffic, anything but sleeping in. Jonghyun books the studio at night to avoid the droopy eyes, tight throats, lame excuses. If Jonghyun is here, ready to work, then so is everyone else.

Kibum knows Jonghyun is more receptive to suggestions during the first half hour than he is for the rest of the session, and after those thirty minutes Jonghyun won’t so much as crack a smile—different from when he’s in the studio to record rather than direct, and cherry blossom sweetness drips from his tongue as he works to impress the same producers who’ve known him since conception, who know of his need for others to look at him with pure, overflowing infatuation. Or else he’s not good enough—has to work harder, train longer, be smarter to be loved.

So, Kibum goes higher, digs deeper, does better. For Jonghyun. Anything.

He only wishes his love had been enough.

There are other things he wishes for too. He voted they push the album release back another month because their set date is just shy of three weeks away and they haven't yet settled on a title track, caught between Jonghyun’s song and another they’ve already finished. A split vote only because Jonghyun keeps his to himself.

He wants for Taemin to finally speak up to the management about overbooking his schedule and loosening the rope they have tied around his neck. He's three contracts deep in SM Entertainment's carefully crafted trap and it's Kibum who answers the phone calls late at night to wretched sobbing and words that crack around the worries he can do nothing about. It helps that Taemin’s closest friends are all in the industry as well. Kibum has made the mistake of playing coworkers with people who were meant to be much more—the universe sending him one familiar after another—only to go further than necessary when he finally accepts the hint, swiftly crossing invisible boundaries, conceding to the law of attraction.

Mistakes were made.

Jinki is isolating, still reeling from his scandal. Unread messages from so-called friends still plaguing his KaTalk because he won’t delete their numbers. His fear of being hated—unjust or not—wreaks havoc through his bones that Kibum feels through the screens when they talk, sometimes even across the river. But he writes. And he’ll answer when Kibum reaches out, almost immediately, so Kibum makes sure to do so at least once a day.

And Minho, well he hasn’t been around to ask for a night of reset drinking, therefore, Kibum worries about him the least. He’s okay not being the elder of choice for the obstacles in Minho’s life that require history and wisdom Kibum can’t impart.

He just wants for all his boys to be safe and healthy, unharmed and whole. Happy.

So, Kibum sings, now, if only to make sure Jonghyun gets home on time. Maybe he can get in a quick nap, a cuddle session with Roo, a talk with his mom before he's carted off to DMC. Another two hours of his night stolen. Maybe Kibum will listen tonight. It's been a while.

His line ends. The music fades out instead of stopping abruptly, a sign that Jonghyun is weighing his options. Kibum thinks briefly about what he’ll eat after recording.

"Your tone was good that time, but."

Kibum hears Jonghyun’s tired voice through his headset. He takes a deep breath in, out. Waits. Thinks about how the leftover pasta in his fridge would make his face puffy in the morning. Really, eating anything this late will have that affect, so.

Jonghyun shakes his head, shoulders tense, pen tapping a rapid cadence. "Let's move on. I don’t expect to finish tonight."

♫

Kibum lowers his headphones as soon as Jonghyun gives him the okay. Neither are particularly satisfied with the recording, but there's only so much strain Kibum's throat can handle after day drinking and Jonghyun’s manager has been peeking his head in every ten minutes for the last hour, subtly urging them to find a stopping point.

Kibum gives Jonghyun a moment to recalibrate, move away from the console and breathe deep until he's dropped the producer persona and becomes just Jonghyun—the man in desperate need of a sweet glass of red wine and maybe a neck massage. Kibum is only good for one of those things.

He doesn't invade the console space until Jonghyun has stood up, phone in one hand, coat in the other. A cursory glance lets Kibum know Jonghyun's mind has already left this room and travelled twenty minutes ahead to where he'll be next. Garden Studio. No breaks, no time to clear his mind of the disappointment of a song not quite matching the mood of its conception.

It’s not too discouraging, since Jonghyun’s songs have a reputation of taking more than a few sessions to complete. Mixing perfectionism with creativity means there’s always another on the backburner in case the deadline barrels past. Constant, composed disarray.

"How many episodes are you recording tonight?" Kibum asks the back of Jonghyun's head. Or more like the back of his neck, his latest tattoo peeking out from beneath the collar of his solid black tank. A statement that sits heavy at the pit of Kibum's stomach but no doubt heavier on Jonghyun's shoulders. A permanent reminder of his reason to wake up and do the same thing every day, just a different way. Kibum’s phone log keeps a record of the many times they’ve had this conversation over the years, more so in this one than any other in the past.

The pressure to hit—both hard and long, to make the general public fall in love for the first time and all over again—is demanding. Is stifling. Kibum weighs Jonghyun’s career against Taemin’s, compares their sweat and frustration, their tears. Kibum writes a few songs here and there when inspiration sparks from a fleeting glance, but there’s an intensity wrapped in composing he would rather never attempt to unravel.

Jonghyun sniffs, a reply ready on his mind but not to be voiced until he's finished typing whatever message on his phone, not one to have a conversation with his attention divided.

"Just two," he says once the KaTalk message has been sent and he's turned towards Kibum with those same tired eyes from an hour, three days, a week ago.

Just two, Jonghyun says, as if it's not four hours past midnight and another sleepless night willfully scheduled. Almost purposeful ruin.

Kibum nods. He used to expend so much of his breath being upset for—with and at—Jonghyun and the circus they called his schedule. Now, there’s hardly any point when the message never reaches Jonghyun’s ears once Kibum’s voice rises a decibel above what’s acceptable in public. And yelling—arguing—is beyond them at this age, those passionate emotions that would make Kibum red in the face and Jonghyun’s cheeks wet gave way to a less-involved approach for resolving their disagreements. They talk like the partners they were always meant to be and not the lovers they once were.

"Then I'll see you?" Kibum's apartment is closer to the MBC building. It always makes sense for Jonghyun to crawl into his bed and not Jinki or Minho's. Taemin's always out of the question. And, nowadays, so is sleeping alone.

Jonghyun sniffs again, distracted. "Maybe,” he says, fingers searching his pockets and pulling out a cigarette. “Do you?”

Kibum shakes his head at the offer but follows Jonghyun outside. The night air rubs against Kibum’s skin, coating it with a thin layer of grime he willingly lets Jonghyun contribute to as he lights his stick. The twin sparks create dancing shadows across Jonghyun’s face, burns misplaced passion in his eyes.

Kibum could never really get into smoking, does it more for the occasional aesthetic rather than the gentle pull at his nerves facilitated by the nicotine in his system. Jinki breathes the stuff in as a makeshift lifeforce—when going outside becomes too much, fresh air too clean. And no one stares at a street-corner smoker. Taemin is the best study of them all, never taking more than one stick from a carton, and never from the same person in one week. Once he was old enough, he switched to e-cigarettes and vapes before management could chastise him too many times about showing up smelling like three ashtrays and a sleazy Yongsan bar.

And Jonghyun was there, all the while, no judgement in his eyes but a little puffed with pride to be the one with the healthiest lungs, the prettiest belts—SHINee’s lead vocalist.

Kibum laughs quietly to himself, head down and shoulders shaking in false amusement. “Yknow,” he starts, “I always thought you’d be the last of us to start smoking, if at all.”

“All Koreans smoke,” Jonghyun grunts, voice deepening around the heat in his mouth. Kibum remembers the last time they kissed, how Jonghyun tasted like grit and old soju, smelled like Jinki’s perfume.

How Kibum cried for what felt like hours after Jonghyun left and he realized that just a taste would never be enough.

“Minho quit,” Kibum counters before a sharp inhale guides the smoke from Jonghyun’s exhale through Kibum’s nostrils to sit at the base of his tongue.

Jonghyun cocks his head to one side, furrowing his eyebrows in thought. The contemplating doesn’t last long.

“He’s Minho,” he says, flicking ash at his feet. They both watch the flakes fall slow, meaningless—their purpose fulfilled in just two small puffs.

Kibum clears his throat in an effort to conceal a cough. “Does it help you sleep?”

Jonghyun cuts his eyes at him. If he’s annoyed, Kibum only has half a mind to feel responsible. It’s hard talking to Jonghyun when he’s delirious with petulance and wanting nothing more than what everyone keeps telling him he needs.

“Sleep? No.” Jonghyun throws the unfinished cigarette on the ground then grinds his heel over what’s left. “It helps me do other things, though.”

Kibum raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Write,” Jonghyun admits, fingers tapping idly at the brick behind him, “Sometimes. Gets my thoughts all sorted out.” He lifts his gaze from the ground to the sky for a moment then looks Kibum right in the eyes when he whispers with faux modesty, “And fuck.”

Kibum can’t help the laugh that bubbles its way out (and with it the bit of Jonghyun he kept on the surface of his papillae), “Better?”

Jonghyun shrugs, the phantom of a smile on his chapped lips. “I wouldn’t know.”

_But you would._

If Kibum was just a few years and a heartbreak younger, he maybe would’ve blushed.

♫

Kibum doesn’t listen to Blue Night tonight. There’s an airiness to Jonghyun’s voice when he’s tired, and a sweetness that he sneaks in as deception. Kibum’s already peeled through enough of the man’s layers for the day.

Minho sends a message of encouragement to Jonghyun in the group chat that only Kibum reads because he happened to have KaTalk open when it delivered. (He’s also the only one without an early schedule, which leaves him with a quaint desire to stay up all night mindlessly scrolling through every app on his phone). It’ll stay that way till morning when Jinki finally gets through the notifications he lets pile up and Taemin comes to whine about their nonexistent choreography.

Jonghyun will respond only after Kibum gently pries him from his bed with a cup of hot chocolate and a suggestion to check the group chat.

Since Jonghyun didn’t come over after recording, Kibum doesn’t know when Minho will feel the acknowledgement of his support. It used to annoy Kibum more in the early days when they were all so buried in each other there wasn’t a need to check messages. But that was years and a billion missed calls ago. Now he’d count himself lucky to get a midnight break-in twice a month, pulled away from a dream with an armful of soft skin and a familiar heat.

Kibum goes through the motions of waking up without anything to do, but there’s a gnawing in the back of his brain that doesn’t go away, always wanting to know where Jonghyun sleeps when it’s not with him. If he sleeps at all. Lucky for Kibum, there’s one person whose job it is to know where Jonghyun is, for the most part, all hours of the day.

**SHINee Key**

_Are you and hyung at the studio?_ [8:12am]

Kibum wants so bad for the answer to be no, for Jonghyun’s manager to say he’s at home resting after a long night of recording and broadcasting. His energy reserve had been running on fumes. Kibum heard it in Jonghyun’s voice last night, felt it when Jonghyun reached his hand out, timid fingers wrapping around Kibum’s to steal just a little bit of warmth, to gain just that much more energy to make it to the van that would take him across the city—not to a bed but yet another stiff chair. Kibum let Jonghyun cling to the softness.

So, yes, he hopes like hell Jonghyun is not at the studio after getting off work only four hours ago.

As expected, it doesn’t take long for Kibum to get a response. With all members preparing for the upcoming comeback, their managers are never more than an arm’s length away from their phones, notification on at all times.

**Jeon Raejin**

_Yes. Did you need anything?_ [8:12am]

**SHINee Key**

_Has he said when he plans on leaving?_ [8:15am]

**Jeon Raejin**

_I’ve been suggesting noon for lunch. Jonghyun-ssi hasn’t eaten yet._ [8:15am]

**SHINee Key**

_I’ll take him at 12 if he doesn’t have a schedule after._

_Are you okay with that?_ [8:26am]

**Jeon Raejin**

_He’s free until Blue Night recording tonight._ [8:27am]

**SHINee Key**

_I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell him I’m coming._

_Thank you_ [8:32am]

Kibum is ready just before eleven rolls around. He gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror, thinking how perfect his outfit would be if he could find out where he misplaced his khaki Givenchy patch trench coat, then sends a quick message to both their managers before taking the elevator down to the garage. His eyes do a quick survey for a cameraman or _sasaengs_ (though there’s hardly a difference), spots one poorly hidden in the far-right corner, and makes sure his hood is pulled tight around his face before getting in his car and leaving. He wagers the person probably wasn’t there for him anyway.

In Grid studio isn’t far from where Kibum stays in Cheongdam, so he makes a quick stop at The Coffee Bean to get himself a latte and Jonghyun an energizing black tea, a drink he hasn’t been able to go a day without recently. Kibum would argue it’s one of Jonghyun’s better addictions.

When Kibum finally finds Jonghyun in the studio he’s in the same outfit from the night before, confirming his suspicions that Jonghyun never made it home. Kibum simmers in that thought for a moment, upset because that means Jonghyun’s manager, Raejin is running on empty just the same. Raejin isn’t fresh out the womb in the industry, but he’s new to the company and Jonghyun has enough years on him to where the idea of leaving a popular senior idol unattended—especially when he’s the transportation—feels almost like a death sentence to his career. He wouldn’t risk it even if Jonghyun begged on his hands and knees for him to go home and rest. Jonghyun knows this and still.

He can’t help it. Months of sleep therapy worked like magic in the beginning until one night he slipped off the carefully lined track and it turned into a labyrinth of unsuccessful sleep aids. Everything that worked before is useless now, and Kibum isn’t a medical professional. It feels like this is all he can do. All he has to offer. Tea and warmth.

Raejin pretends to get a call and leaves them be, not before mouthing a quick thank you in Kibum’s direction. Kibum greets Jonghyun by placing a hand on the back of his neck, just underneath the base of his hoodie. The skin is warm there and Kibum can trace the outline of Jonghyun’s tattoo with the pad of his finger. Jonghyun tilts his head back in response, eyes closed, one cheap earphone hanging from his ear.

Kibum sits their drinks aside with his free hand. He keeps the other on Jonghyun’s neck, alternating pressure between his fingers, a kind of pseudo massage Jonghyun melts into.

It’s moments before Jonghyun speaks, a listless murmur of acknowledgment that barely reaches Kibum’s ears.

“I think it’s time you took a break,” Kibum whispers just as low, “I brought you some hot tea. Though it’s probably more warm than hot now.”

Jonghyun hums, his fingers lightly tapping the table, eyes still closed. A nonresponse.

Even though he feels like he’s talking to a toddler, Kibum continues, “A little manager-sized birdy told me you haven’t eaten yet.”

Jonghyun slowly blinks his eyes open to stare at Kibum towering above him. It takes a while for his pupils to focus, but Kibum smiles him through the fatigue. He brings his hand to the front of Jonghyun’s neck to pull at one of the strings of his hoodie. The hood bunches and that’s when Jonghyun finally sits upright. 

“M’not hun’ry,” he mumbles, eyes shifting deceptively to the right. That’s when Kibum knows he’s not telling the truth.

Kibum shakes his head and lowers himself to Jonghyun’s level. He doesn’t bend his knees, only his torso, and his hands rest on the back of Jonghyun’s chair, effectively encasing him in a Kibum-sized cage.

“You are,” Kibum argues while Jonghyun continues to blink languidly at him, “Sleepy, too. Here. Drink your tea. I’ll take you home.”

Jonghyun puts up little resistance once he has warm liquid down his throat.

♫

Navigating Jonghyun’s home feels almost too comfortable for Kibum. He parks his car in the same visitor’s spot he’s used for the past three years, ease settling into his footsteps as he half walks-half carries Jonghyun to the elevator, down the hall, and finally up the stairs of his two-story to the space Jonghyun calls his own. Fatigue finds rest in Jonghyun’s limbs and partially seals his lips. Kibum bears the weight, content just to be needed, no matter how brief or unwanted.

Sometimes he regrets the distance he was so eager to enforce once he made good on his threat to move out. There’s a door-shaped chasm made of glass he carefully crosses each time he visits—spikes glued to the soles of his shoes— that could never make Jonghyun’s apartment feel like it could be another home to tick off on his fingers when asked.

Yet, Kibum still knows how Jonghyun’s eight hundred thread count grey cotton sheets feel against his skin, clutched in his fist, wet with sweat, sticky with cum, and covered in Roo’s fur. Almost exactly how they are now, minus a few details.

Jonghyun detaches himself to go take a shower, soft, customary murmurings of welcome dying on their way out because there’s no point in telling Kibum to make himself comfortable when he’s already fingering the comforter, nostalgia between his thumb and forefinger. He pulls on the material. It scratches the tip of his nose, then his cheek, smells so distinctly like Jonghyun it hurts. Kibum feels a drop in his gut, a longing. Then he sees it, a touch of khaki tucked beneath Jonghyun’s pillow.

Kibum uses his free hand to dislodge the fabric and sinks with recognition.

Jonghyun walks out his bathroom a haze of steam Kibum barely sees. He stops in front of Kibum and situates himself between his thighs, Kibum’s pants taking the brunt of water droplets falling from his wet hair.

“When did I leave my jacket here?” Kibum asks, pointedly ignoring the sweet look Jonghyun’s giving him—big eyes, pouty lips, somehow more awake as he gazes down at Kibum.

Kibum raises the hand still holding his missing—now found—khaki Givenchy patch trench coat. Jonghyun huffs out a laugh, his breath hitting Kibum square in the face. Minty. Cool. He places his hand over Kibum’s, pries his fingers loose to take the jacket and lay it back on the bed.

“You didn’t,” he says plainly, returning his attention to Kibum. He runs a hand through Kibum’s hair, stopping just at the base of his neck. Then he bends forward a little till their foreheads touch, and he breathes in, deep, releases it like a sigh.

Kibum hates how Jonghyun’s near closeness, his near nakedness, still has parts of him reeling. The important parts—his brain, his heart. And everything else that make up the spaces in between and awakens his soul.

“Does my scent help you sleep?” The rational part of Kibum reasons it’s a question he shouldn’t want to know the answer to.

Jonghyun sucks in his bottom lip before nodding, “And hyung’s,” he adds, “Jinki hyung’s. Sometimes. But mostly yours.”

Kibum regards the jacket from the corner of his eye, not wanting to turn his head even just a millimeter to where his breath might no longer mingle with Jonghyun’s.

“Mostly mine,” he mirrors.

He supposes it makes sense. Just like how Jonghyun is within eyesight one moment, then suddenly he’s nuzzling Kibum’s neck. A gradual, expected turn of events Kibum doesn’t have the willpower to even think about stopping.

“Jjong, do you want to—”

“Please,” he breathes into Kibum’s skin.

Kibum guides them to the bed, climbs atop Jonghyun, wastes no time pressing their lips together. Broken skin and rose balm mesh till Kibum slides his tongue across smooth skin that softens even more when wet. And Jonghyun bites, small nips down Kibum’s chin, neck. A few buttons come undone to give him access to Kibum’s chest and when he breathes, hot and heavy, against Kibum’s collarbones the world around them dulls to a muted grey.

Kibum doesn’t miss the raw umber of his shirt once it’s pulled above his head and thrown into some corner of the room. He doesn’t miss the pine green towel Jonghyun desperately rids himself of, to be replaced in Kibum’s vision by the light beige of his bare legs, the pink of his dick, half-erect. Jonghyun whimpers when Kibum trails his fingers along its side, stopping at the head where he closes his hand into a fist. Jonghyun writhes beneath him, miniscule whines escaping his throat to bless Kibum’s ears.

“Will it help you sleep?” Kibum asks, a little breathless from Jonghyun carving his name into Kibum’s back with his nails, signing his initials on Kibum’s nipples with his tongue. A master of multitasking, Jonghyun works diligently to ensure everyone he meets speaks of him with only positive anecdotes—pure, overflowing infatuation. A notion Kibum acceded to at first impression. Adoring Jonghyun comes easy as walking. It takes a tragedy to undo, and even then, Kibum would always be left with the knowledge of exactly what to do.

“Probably,” Jonghyun half-answers in a rush, clumsily trying to situate his limbs so their bodies fit together. Kibum nods as he gropes blindly at Jonghyun’s legs, intent on leaving the mark of his hands somewhere on Jonghyun’s skin, red and aching. It shouldn’t be so perfect, but it is—the way Jonghyun’s ass sits snug against Kibum’s groin, their friction creating a steady transfer of heat building up to a blazing fire only one of them can extinguish.

Jonghyun reveling in his high; Kibum snuffed out beneath the heel of his left boot.

♫

Like most things that involve the both of them, Jonghyun was right when he said sex would help him sleep. He’s barely conscious when Kibum cleans them both up and tucks him in. Kibum is set to leave when Jonghyun grabs hold of his arm on the way out—big eyes, pouting lips silently pleading with him to stay. Kibum is past the stage of the relationship when refusing Jonghyun feels like anything but pinpoint chills all down his spine, so he slides beneath the eight hundred thread count grey cotton sheets and is immediately bombarded.

With Jonghyun’s legs atop his, his face buried in Kibum’s chest, Kibum can’t help but let his mind wander back to the past—when they got to do this every day, guilt-free. When he felt less like a means to an end that wasn’t forever.

Still.

“You should’ve come over last night,” Kibum mumbles, the words spilling out into Jonghyun’s hair—an attempt to muffle the sounds and maintain the delicate atmosphere.

“I did,” Jonghyun slurs in near-slumber, “di’n’t wan’ wake you.”

Kibum’s mind jerks, but his body remains almost unnaturally still, trapped underneath and between everything that is Jonghyun’s.

“You came to my apartment last night?” he asks, stunned into what would be disbelief if Jonghyun were a liar. And he’s not. So, Kibum is just stunned.

Jonghyun simply nudges Kibum’s chin with a nod, his ability to speak diminishing as he falls deeper into sleep.

♫

Kibum stays awake for the rest of the night, time dancing amongst the added layers of embers coating that blood-pumping organ in his chest he wishes would just stop.

But there are other things he wishes for, too.

Things kept beyond an impassible expanse of grey.

**Author's Note:**

> twt: [meliorismel](https://twitter.com/meliorismel/) :)


End file.
